


what's holding you up

by Addison R (beyond_belief)



Category: Shetland (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Yuletide Treat, some pining i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Addison%20R
Summary: Jimmy gets hurt in the line of duty; Duncan helps him clean up.
Relationships: Duncan Hunter & Jimmy Perez, Duncan Hunter/Jimmy Perez
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	what's holding you up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corvidology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/gifts).



With any luck, Jimmy thinks, it'll just be Cassie at home; the lights are on in all the downstairs windows, but maybe she just forgot to turn them off. He gets through the door without Sandy's help, bids him goodnight, and is partway through getting his coat off when he hears Duncan's voice. "What the hell happened to you?"

"All in the line of duty," Jimmy says dryly.

Duncan swipes the newspaper up off the floor where it fell when he jumped up, and leaves it on the counter to help Jimmy with his coat. "Thanks," Jimmy breathes, too tired and too sore to protest the assistance. "Suspect tried to beat me up, then tried to hit me with their car."

"Tried?" Duncan's eyes are wide. His hands rise to gently touch the swellings on Jimmy's face, the dried and drying blood on his jumper. "Some measure of success, here."

"Ha, very funny." He can't stop himself from sagging slightly as Duncan gets his coat off, bracing against the edge of the counter.

"Jesus. Jimmy, let me help you upstairs," Duncan says; it's not a question.

"Aye," Jimmy agrees with a sigh. He leans against Duncan as they go up the stairs. Cassie's door is closed and quiet. She's hopefully asleep. Jimmy doesn't want her to see him like this. The blood's no longer dripping, but he knows he's not a pretty sight.

Duncan steers him into his own bedroom, hands gentle as he helps Jimmy ease down onto the bed. "Where's your pyjamas?"

"Hung on the back of the door."

He's bending down to remove his boots when Duncan turns back from grabbing the flannel bottoms and undershirt that Jimmy wears to bed, and feels Duncan's hands on his shoulders. 

"Here - let me -"

"You don't -" Jimmy starts.

"You wince every time you move. I think I can get your boots off."

Jimmy takes a deep breath. That hurts, too. Duncan settles carefully to his knees and works the laces loose enough to tug the boots from Jimmy's feet. "There's blood on your jeans," Duncan says quietly, and all Jimmy can do is sigh.

He reaches for the bottom of his jumper, intending to pull it up and over his head, and makes it not even halfway before having to stop and catch his breath from the pain. "Broken ribs?" Duncan asks. Jimmy feels his hands coax the jumper up and off.

"No, just bruised."

"Bruised ribs, cuts and scrapes all over your face and arms - you're a right mess, Jimmy." He runs a thumb across Jimmy's swollen knuckles. "Stay here."

"It's me own bedroom, where am I going to go?" Jimmy asks after him, as Duncan goes out the door. Then he figures he can at least make an attempt at getting out of the bloodstained jeans - it should be a little easier, he won't have to raise his arms or bend too far forward. He gets his belt and the button and zipper undone, manages to lift his hips enough to get the waistband past his ass, then steps on the bottom hems to pull the fabric down his legs. He'd feel like a little kid hurrying to get undressed, if he wasn't so sore.

Duncan returns with a full glass of water in one hand, and a wet-looking washcloth in the other. He rolls his eyes at the sight and passes Jimmy the glass and several paracetamol tablets. "Take that."

Jimmy's always thought he had a fairly high pain tolerance, but he does need to sleep. Duncan hands him the washcloth once he's swallowed the painkillers. Then Duncan leans down and tugs the jeans the rest of the way free from Jimmy's legs, tossing them into the clothes hamper. 

He takes the wet cloth back from Jimmy's hand. "Didnae anyone clean you up any, before slapping on the plasters?" he asks, wiping gently across Jimmy's forehead, then down his temples, over his nose and cheeks. "I hope you got the other guy just as good."

A thumb touches his mouth, where he hadn't even realized his lip had split. It stings now. Duncan presses the washcloth there, holds it. Jimmy opens his eyes to see Duncan's face very close, his gaze fixed on Jimmy's. "I mean it," Duncan murmurs. "Hope you got a few solid swings in."

"Hand to hand, aye. Versus the car, no."

Duncan shakes his head. "Don't you know better than to get in these situations?" It's clear from his tone he's not being serious, but his fingers are still touching Jimmy's mouth.

Jimmy wants to thank him for caring, but the washcloth is now in the way, so he curls his fingers slowly around Duncan's wrist and squeezes gently. When Duncan moves the cool cloth away, he says, "In my own defense, I wasn't planning for someone to drive at me in their Fiat," but it's mostly a grumble, and the last few words are mangled by a yawn. 

Duncan's face lights in a true smile. "Christ, Jimmy," he laughs, clearly despite himself. 

His hands move up to Jimmy's hairline, nimble fingers checking for blood. "Aye, you'll live, unless there's some internal bleeding you're keeping to yourself."

"It's only the ribs, cross my heart." 

Duncan helps him into the worn pyjama bottoms, warm and very close in a way he's never really been, then gently works the day's undershirt up and over Jimmy's head and replaces it with the washed-soft pyjama version. Jimmy's aching bad by the end of it, but the paracetamol should be kicking in any minute. "Havnae gotten this banged up in ages," he admits.

"Surprised they didnae offer you a stronger painkiller." Duncan sits down next to him on the bed, and Jimmy props a shoulder against him. "No, let me guess - you refused one."

Jimmy nods. 

"Stubborn." Duncan pats his knee, then leaves his hand resting there. "You need a drink to sleep?"

He should say no. "Aye. And can you get my mobile from my coat pocket?" 

"Be right back."

Jimmy can feel the edges of the pain beginning to recede as Duncan leaves the room. He follows the sound of Duncan's footsteps on the stairs, wanting to concentrate on anything other than the various throbbing aches. There's the creak of the hinge on the one kitchen cupboard; he should fix that, one of these days. 

He's moved just enough to push the blankets down so he can eventually attempt to get under them when Duncan returns, glass in hand. It's no more than Jimmy would have poured himself, and he can tell from the quirk of Duncan's mouth that he's thinking the same thing. Duncan waits for him to drink the few swallows before taking the glass back again, and setting it on the nightstand. He plugs Jimmy's cell in beside it. "All right?"

"Paracetamol's kicking in. I'll be fine."

Duncan doesn't look convinced. "Let me help you settle in, and then I'll stop making you uncomfortable."

Jimmy manages half a smile at that, making an allowance for the split lip. "You're not. Really. Thank you, for helping."

Duncan makes a small considering noise, then moves the blankets and helps Jimmy get his legs under them. Jimmy feels better lying down, especially now that the painkillers and alcohol are starting to do their work. He catches Duncan's arm briefly. "I do mean it. Thanks."

"Wouldnae do any good for Cassie to find you passed out on the couch because you couldn't get up the stairs." 

No, it wouldn't. 

Duncan tugs the blanket up to his shoulder. Then he looks down at Jimmy, his expression confused. "Why do you have such a small bed?"

"It's only me," Jimmy yawns. 

"Well, now I have to sit on the floor until you nod off." Duncan folds himself down as he says it, back to the edge of the mattress.

"You don't have to stay," Jimmy tries to argue, but it's weak; exhaustion is making everything heavy, and he gives up on keeping his eyes open. He does work one hand free of the sheet, and rests the back of it against Duncan's shoulder. He can feel the barest movement as Duncan breathes, and it's oddly comforting. 

"I'm staying no matter what you say," Duncan replies, "and you're almost asleep already."

"'m not," Jimmy protests, just because, and Duncan's shoulder shifts slightly with his amused inhalation.


End file.
